Like
by Kiyuzanova
Summary: For people who would never meet, fate plays with chances via the great expanses of the internet. Indigoshipping if you squint.


**More experimentation. This time featuring the newest pair of characters to gain a shipping name.**

**Lots of love goes to my writing aibou because Heather you are the best :3  
**

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**` Like** by Kiyuzanova

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You have entered.

...

The cursor blinks on the empty page. Then, after a century, fingers begin to type.

who

are

you

Fingers hover over the Enter key, pausing. Then they return to the keys again, to add the final stroke of punctuation.

And then the message is sent.

_Who are you?_

The reply is immediate.

_Neither of us have the liberty to tell._

Now accustomed to the interface, the next message is sent faster.

_What do you mean?_

_This is the internet. An anonymous chatroom. _—Pause. _You are new here._

_yes_

...

The person is typing, says the alert screen. But it is a full minute before a reply arrives.

_Most times on this site you would find trolls who only know how to create havoc. But you aren't like them. Is there anything you were after?_

...

Is there?

...

A simple alert:

You have disconnected.

* * *

The chatroom is open.

Somebody has entered. Then a message.

_butts_

...

You have disconnected.

* * *

You have entered.

_Hi._

_hi_

...

The person is typing.

They have disconnected.

* * *

The chatroom appears again. No; it was always there, alone. Ignored. The first one he'd visited, bearing nothing but the designation _5_.

5.

Five?

Five what?

A hand hesitates over the mouse, then clicks it twice.

You have entered.

...

The person on the other end says nothing. They are not typing, merely sitting, as if waiting for the first move to be played. Or perhaps they are away.

He decides to initiate the conversation.

_is it you?_

The reply is immediate.

_Who is 'you' ?_

He freezes for a moment. Then he shakes his head, and fingers return to the keyboard again.

_nevermind_

There is silence. Half a minute passes, with no indication of the other person typing. It seems they truly have taken the expression to heart.

Fingers begin typing again.

_What are you doing?_

_Thinking._ Instantaneous; as expected. _Reading._

_reading what?_

The reply is not in Japanese, typed with a foreign keyboard. Sounding each alphabetic character phonetically doesn't provide an answer.

_what is that?_

_Nietzsche._

_Philosophy?_

_Somewhat. I do not read it for the content._

He doesn't know how to answer, so the chatroom falls idle again. Idly, he notes the pronoun. _Watashi_. Female, then – or is the chatroom formal? No; they are most likely foreign – that's what they taught in textbooks, isn't it?

The silence is unnerving. He decides to ask anyway.

_Are you Japanese?_

_No. But I have lived in Heartland for seven years._

Heartland; not Heartland City. The centre, the home of the elite, the realm of the rich.

_I see._

_And you?_

It is the first time the other person has asked a question.

_Half. My father's side. I live in Heartland City._

_Outside the border? Interesting. What is it like?_

_boring._

_Is that all?_

...

_Yes. _—Fingers hesitate. Then they delete the reply and start anew.

_There are more accidents here._

_There are many accidents in Heartland that do not make it to the news._

_?_

_Net News. You have heard of them?_

_Yes_

_They hold a monopoly on media within the city. Mr. Heartland is on the board of directors. It's been that way for eleven years._

He freezes when he reads the reply. Then he remembers that he is on the internet, in a chatroom, talking to an anonymous person on the other side.

_how do I know you're not lying?_

_You don't._

...

The person is typing.

_Have you have been inappropriately represented by the media?_

_Yes. Too many times._

_Interesting._

The person does not ask further. A part of him almost wants them to, so he has an excuse to vent his frustration—his sister's injury, reported as nothing but a freak factory fire instigated by a girl who decided to go exploring one day. His unfair disqualification, how they had security footage of him supposedly looking at his opponent's cards when there was none of the cards themselves or of the set-up being made.

How the media could jump to conclusions—yet not the conclusion of the bond he and his sister shared.

Then a message appears on his screen: _Were you after something?_

Was he?

_No._

But he does not leave. He watches the screen, wordlessly, unsure what he is doing or why he's doing so. Ten minutes pass before another message is received.

_I have to go. My brothers require my attention._

The person is typing.

...

They have disconnected.

* * *

The next day, the '5' is gone. He's in the middle of creating a chatroom when he hesitates over the description. Should he?

Five minutes later, somebody enters.

_You have taken my room, I see._

He pauses. Then decides to reply.

_I didn't know how else to find you._

_Do I know you?_

_We talked yesterday._

_I talked to many people yesterday. Most of them were trolls._

_You left to attend to your brothers._

The person is typing.

_Ah. So it's you._

_Nobody else knows about them?_

_Who?_

_Your brothers._

_No. I shouldn't have given out that information._

He pauses. There's nothing he can say. The awkwardness is unwelcome.

_I have a sister,_ he offers instead.

_Do you love her?_

_Beyond words._

_I love my family the same. There is no way I can risk them harm._

_But sometimes_ —He pauses. Then continues anyway, and finishes typing what it is he has in mind.

...

_But sometimes they just do._

...

_Yes. Sometimes they just do._

He doesn't reply. But he's surprised when the next alert appears on the screen: The person is typing.

_You and I are very different. You are Japanese, I am not. I live within Heartland, you live in the City. Where I have brothers, you have a sister. But we are alike in that we care for our family _– _and that we have both turned to the internet to seek answers. I find it quite interesting._

He did not have time to begin an answer. Another message appears.

_I apologise._

_why?_

_This is our last conversation. I must go._

_We can meet up some day._

_No. We can't. You know too much. It's time for me to disappear._

Then:

_Goodbye._

They have disconnected.

_Wait._

He looks at the message on his screen, suspended in nothingness, far too late to reach the other side. Then he closes his eyes – he tries to will the memory of the stranger away, Rio's health should have taken priority.

There are only a few days until the Carnival begins.

Then he can take his revenge on IV, and destroy him.

...Ryoga could not forget the stranger. He would not forget him. They are alike, after all.

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Thanks for reading :)


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